


ringing bells

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Soulmates, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-06
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-06-06 00:14:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15182495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He is intensely aware of the way Derek’s eyes flare red when he tips his head back and to the side, baring his neck for the mating bite.





	ringing bells

The door creaks when it opens, something that Peter still finds odd. 

The house he and Derek had rebuilt was different from the old Hale house--in design, in wood and location, in every way. 

And the door creaks. Every time it opens, his bedroom door creaks. 

Once upon a time, that creak was followed by careful feet padding across the wood floor, hands tugging at the sheers until Peter sighed and lifted his nephew into his bed. 

It changed, of course, quick heavy feet running, almost drowning out the creak, and shrill laughter before Derek landed in his bed, all gangly knees and elbows. 

Creeping feet, and a barest hint of creak, as he slipped silently into Peter’s bed, curling close and breathing in, like a secret. 

He remembers it creaked, the night he threw it open and the fire roared up, and Derek’s panic spiked over the bond. 

“You ready?” 

Peter glances at Stiles, and feels something settled. 

Stiles, who had spent so many days slipping through a creaky door in the hospital to settle at Peter’s bedside, talking to him during the endless years he was in a coma. Years when Stiles’ voice and the white hot heat of the fire was all he knew. 

When he woke, it was Stiles he went too, out of his mind with grief and rage, and Stiles who helped him through the messy business of being an alpha, of killing everyone responsible for the fire. 

It feels right, that he be here now, in this creaky house that is beginning to feel like a home. 

“Yes,” he says, finally, smoothing his shirt once more. 

It was Lydia’s idea, and he hadn’t fought it, because once upon a time, Derek crept into his bed and whispered about the night they’d be mated, when he’d stand before their pack and Peter would claim him. 

He’d dreamed of it, and it was that--not Lydia, not Stiles’ teasing, not even the pack teasing they deserved a wedding--only Derek’s shy dreaming that got Peter in a suit, that made him tolerate the girls covering the house in green and frothy white flowers, tolerate the food and cake, the fucking violinist Stiles had propped up in the garden. 

Peter had put his foot down about a cellist that Lydia had suggested and Derek had been pale and quiet as he agreed, leaning into Peter’s side while Stiles glared daggers at the redhead. 

“Nervous?” Stiles asks and Peter laughs. 

He remembers the moment he realized what his future was--the moment he came home after five years of boarding school, his pack bonds stretched so thin and weak he was almost an omega. He’d come home to find Laura, a imperious seven year old snapping at him for invading her den, and Maura, toddling along behind her, curious even at two as she peered up at Peter. 

The scent drew his head up first, wildflowers and woodsmoke, and the boy came in a moment later, head bent over a book, and everything in him  _ shifted _ , settled into place, a ringing bell echoing over the howling of his wolf and the primal  _ mine _ that ripped through him. 

Derek--because it could only be Derek, Talia’s second born, the only boy, the one Talia said was far too serious, who so often hid in Peter’s abandoned rooms, curled in his piles of books--looked up, and he made a little noise, a tiny gasp as the book fell from his fingers, and then he smiled, bright and wide and sweet, and Peter knew this precious little boy was  _ his. _

And he was Derek’s. 

It’s been more than two decades since that day, and he still felt it, the inexplicable sense of  _ his _ when Derek smiled at him, shy and sweet and sure. 

“No,” Peter says, and Stiles grins. 

 

~*~

 

Stiles is waiting at the altar, poised in the middle, his black suit eating up the light. The pack scatters around him, and Peter is aware of the Sheriff, grinning as proudly as if Stiles was the one getting married, sitting next to Melissa who watches with curious warmth. 

Even Argent is there, amongst the alphas from packs they’ve befriended and  built alliances with. 

And a row of seats, each holding a lit candle that would make Peter nervous, if he didn’t know for a fact that Stiles was holding that fire with his Spark. 

There’s one for each pack member-- _ family _ member--who died in the fire, and Peter swallows hard, when he sees it. 

Then he focuses on Derek, coming from the opposite side of the yard. 

He’s in a white suit and jacket, barefoot, with a black shirt and tie. His eyes are bright and gleaming, and his smile is soft, sweet. Shyly pleased. 

And Peter feels it, that familiar rush, the ringing bell, the inexplicable, undeniable whispering of  _ mine. _

He takes the last few steps without ever realizing he’s taken them, until he’s standing close to Derek, in front of their friends and pack, and Stiles nearby. 

They’d argued once after Derek proposed, just once over whose best man Stiles would be until Stiles said simply he’d stand for them both, and that was the end of it.

He doesn’t remember the ceremony, later. 

Not the useless words from Satomi about honoring and cherishing, vows far too tame for a wolf taking a mate. He is only vaguely aware of the silk wrapping around his wrist, long nimble fingers tying him to Derek. 

He is very aware of the way Derek’s voice trembles, but his eyes are steady. 

He is very aware of the pressure of Derek’s hands in his own.

He is very aware of the way the ring feels on his finger, a tiny weight that is grounding and steadying. 

He is intensely aware of the way Derek’s eyes flare red when he tips his head back and to the side, baring his neck for the mating bite. 

Derek’s breath catches and his hands flex a little, before Derek tugs him close and he leans down. 

Since Derek peered at him from under shaggy hair, a little boy who would one day be his, Peter has been protecting him. Sheltering him, and holding him, and lifting him up. 

And now--his heart squeezes because it’s  _ different _ and so right it hurts, being held by Derek, the tiny height difference shifting in Derek’s favor. It feels  _ right  _ to be covered and sheltered, and he gasps, as Derek bites him, unable and unwilling to swallow his moan as his mate licks over his pulse point, teeth digging in and lips slicking with blood. 

The bell rings again, and his wolf  _ howls _ as the bond flares to brilliant life, and Derek grins at him, triumphant and bloody before Peter drags him down into a filthy kiss while Stiles laughs, and the pack howls around them. 


End file.
